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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983520">Power &amp; Control</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabyforsuffering/pseuds/lullabyforsuffering'>lullabyforsuffering</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Creepy, Drama, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Why Did I Write This?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27983520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lullabyforsuffering/pseuds/lullabyforsuffering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was about power and control, not sex.” Leo is starting to feel out of control as the investigation advances, and takes it out on one of those he considers a threat. Starts between episodes 6-7 of series 3; semi-canon compliant (as far as possible) until the end of the series, and will probably continue for a bit after.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alec Hardy &amp; Ellie Miller, Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first AO3 and first Broadchurch fic, and I’m sorry it’s such a horrible premise! I’m just a sucker for those parts in dramas where the main characters are in danger, and there was definitely a bit of suspense established in Leo’s interactions with Ellie (/his general creepiness) and those walking home through the alleyway scenes. Please forgive the slight disregard for Broadchurch geography, and my fic-writing rustiness! </p>
<p>CW: violence (will post individual warnings for each chapter). </p>
<p>I don’t own Broadchurch, etc.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blue twine.</p>
<p>Ellie was sick to death of blue twine. Why did all the men they interviewed possess it, even the ones who didn’t fish? Why couldn’t someone like Ed Burnett buy normal twine to tie his vegetables; wouldn’t that look more rustic for a farm-shop? Why would Jim Atwood bother keeping all that fishing crap, if he hadn’t got on with it? She scrolled up and down the photos from Ed’s house-search in frustration, knowing they wouldn’t yield anything else after all the time she’d already spent staring at them, but at a loss for how else to proceed. He was entitled to his eight hours of rest after their last interview, less than two of which had elapsed so far. They were waiting for results on the items they’d sent for testing from his house, but that wasn’t likely before the morning. They’d sent Trish’s computer off for examination, but that would take time too. In the meantime, Hardy had suggested they prep for a fresh attempt on Ed early the next morning, and had added – almost as an afterthought – that they also probably ought to take advantage of a few hours’ shut-eye. Ellie suspected this had more to do with his guilt about leaving Daisy on her own than a genuine belief that sleep was anything other than a waste of time at this point, but she was not about to argue. In fact, she was hoping that she would be home before Tom went to sleep; however angry he had made her by stealing his phone back and restocking it with yet more porn, she didn’t like to go to bed on an argument. Especially since Danny. </p>
<p>She sighed, glancing out of the window at the evening sky. The sun had set about half an hour ago, and lingering streaks of dusky pink were disappearing into the horizon. The clock on the wall told her that it was 10pm. </p>
<p>As if he’d read her mind, Hardy stomped out of his office, pulling on his suit jacket. </p>
<p>“Any’hin new for tomorrow?” he asked, looking as if he already knew the answer. Ellie shook her head, saving the images she’d been looking at to a memory stick and closing her emails. </p>
<p>“No,” she grumbled, casting an annoyed glance at the huge wall of names Katie had written out. “I just don’t understand him. He says he loves Trish, but he’s stalking her. He says he’s not violent, but he attacked a man tonight. He says he just uses blue twine to tie vegetables, but takes it to a party in his suit. If he is innocent, he really isn’t helping himself.”</p>
<p>“We know all this, Miller,” Hardy complained, leaning against his office door frame. “We’re just going in circles.”</p>
<p>“Well, have you come up with anything?” Ellie demanded. When he shook his head resignedly, she rolled her eyes and started rooting around in her handbag for her phone as Hardy turned away towards the door. She called her dad on his mobile, absent-mindedly following Hardy as he traipsed down the stairs ahead of her.</p>
<p>“Hi Dad,” she said when he answered, “I’m just leaving work. Do we need anything from the shop? I forgot to ask earlier, what with…” she trailed off, grimacing slightly.</p>
<p>“Well, if you can spare the time,” her dad began, and she glared at the back of Hardy’s head at the hint of sarcasm, “we’re out of juice. And biscuits. Little Fred was upset earlier, he thought he’d a nice Penguin to look forward to when we came back from the park, but the packet was empty. I don’t know who put it back like that.”</p>
<p>Ellie felt a wave of guilt from head to toe, leaving a prickly residue down her spine. It was (although she hated to admit it) quite easy to leave teenage Tom to his own devices at the moment. When he wasn’t getting in trouble for watching porn, he was more interested in video games and texting and sulking. Fred, on the other hand, was still her baby and continued to be remarkably angelic, despite all the disruption he’d faced so far in his short life.</p>
<p>“Oops,” she managed, lamely. “Sorry, that was me, I was in a rush to leave and we don’t really get time for breakfast…”</p>
<p>It sounded pathetic, and she knew it.</p>
<p>“I’ll get him a treat,” she said firmly. “And you.”</p>
<p>“We don’t need treats, love,” her dad answered, sounding a bit sad now. “We just want to see a bit more of you.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Ellie shot back, feeling rattled again. “But I can’t help it. You know how unusual a case like this is for Broadchurch, and how important it is that we catch the person responsible. Once it’s over, we’ll be back to normal.” </p>
<p>There was a slightly weighted silence, in which she knew they were both thinking the same thing: even outside of the rape case, she did tend to work particularly long hours. She and Hardy were both obsessive about their work, and once they got their teeth into something – even something comparatively minor – they became so engrossed that coming up for air to deal with anything else felt like a chore.</p>
<p>“Fine,” her dad replied, sounding unconvinced. </p>
<p>“Is Tom still up?” Ellie changed the subject as they exited the police station, signalling to Hardy to wait a moment before he set off; they hadn’t yet arranged a time to be in the next morning.</p>
<p>“Yes, he’s on his playing station.” </p>
<p>“Playstation,” Ellie said automatically, pulling a face at Hardy, who simply stared at her.</p>
<p>“That’s what I said.”</p>
<p>“No, it… never mind. Anyway, I’ll be home in half an hour.” </p>
<p>“Right, see y-”</p>
<p>Ellie hung up before he had a chance to finish replying and turned to her partner, who was now staring back at the police station. She could practically hear the cogs whirring in his brain.</p>
<p>“Hardy.”</p>
<p>“Hm? Yeah.” He tore his eyes away from the station and glanced at her expectantly. </p>
<p>“What time do you want me to call for you tomorrow morning?” </p>
<p>“We finished his interview just after 8?”</p>
<p>“About half past, I think.”</p>
<p>“Ok. Let’s go in for 5.”</p>
<p>Ellie didn’t complain. She would happily have agreed to be waiting outside Ed’s cell at half 4, ready to resume the questioning. However, she thought Hardy was probably right to give them a bit of leeway; they were both particularly rigorous about PACE regulations these days, given what had happened at Joe’s trial. </p>
<p>“Right,” she concurred, zipping her phone back into her bag and suddenly realising how hungry she was – their dinner earlier had been interrupted by the debacle with Tom’s phone, and she hadn’t had the time or the inclination to go back to it afterwards. “I think I’ll pop by the chippy on the way home. You eaten?”</p>
<p>Hardy didn’t answer, but wrinkled his nose predictably. “See you tomorrow, Miller.” </p>
<p>She smirked as she waved him off. There was something reassuring about consistency, even when it was consistency in being a complete and utter grump. She set off in the direction of the town centre, enjoying the night air. It smelled of the sea, but the southerly wind was carrying the scent of the countryside down with it, and the combination of salt and dewy grass was organic and refreshing after so much time in the pokey interview room. Despite everything that had happened, Ellie could never have left Broadchurch. It was her home, and she felt protective of it. Somehow, she didn’t think she would be quite as driven in her work elsewhere. The intellectual stimulation of piecing together evidence and conducting interviews was certainly a large part of her enjoyment – not to mention the thrill when she (or, rather, they, her and Hardy) solved a case – but her attachment to the town added a particularly potent fuel to her fire; her emotional investment and ingrained knowledge giving rise to a special kind of sensitivity and intuition. Even in the midst of a such a difficult and distressing case, she appreciated her town, and the people in it.</p>
<p>Reaching the high street, Ellie crossed the road and headed first for the Co-op. She hurried round the aisles, aware that these detours were eating into what little opportunity for sleep she had. She grabbed a couple of different flavours of juice and a new packet of Penguins, then selected a fancy dark chocolate bar for her dad and a child’s magazine with a toy dinosaur attached for Fred. She wrestled with herself over whether to get something extra for Tom, whose behaviour was far from deserving of a reward, but decided in the end to get him a magazine too – this one about football - which she could present as an alternative form of entertainment to screens. Finally, she grabbed some teabags for the office and a four-pack of Scotch eggs, so she’d have something to eat quickly for lunch the next day. </p>
<p>At the till, she waited impatiently whilst a middle-aged man agonised over which scratch card to buy and attempted to flirt with the young woman behind the counter, making uninventive comments about whisking her away to a tropical island with the prize money if he won. She gave a couple of perfunctory smiles which didn’t reach her eyes and glanced pointedly towards the waiting Ellie, to no avail. Eventually, the man sauntered off with his selection of scratch cards, and Ellie watched him out of the door as she approached the counter, not bothering to keep the distaste out of her expression. Perhaps it was just the case, but the unsolicited manner in which men just assumed they could chat up women – girls, even - was irking her even more than usual recently.</p>
<p>She exchanged pleasantries with the shop assistant, whom she recognised vaguely as her neighbour by a couple of streets. She was only a few years older than Tom, and had left the same school he was attending just the year before. Ellie’s sense of ickiness about the man with the scratch cards increased, and she found herself gently warning the girl to take care getting home at the end of her shift. Her preoccupations followed her back over the road to the chippy, where her mood was improved by the smell of freshly fried potatoes and the friendly greeting of the man behind the counter, who had worked there for years.</p>
<p>“Usual, is it?” he asked, moving towards the section of the cabinet where the battered fish lay, golden and gleaming in the artificial light. Despite the temptation, Ellie shook her head. </p>
<p>“Just chips, please, Dave” she answered, glancing at her watch. “Bit late for a full meal.”</p>
<p>“Got to disagree with you there,” he shook his head jovially, “never too early or late for fish’n’chips!” </p>
<p>“Maybe, in theory,” Ellie smiled, “but I don’t think my digestive system would thank me!”</p>
<p>“That’s what Rennies are for,” he winked as he shovelled as many chips as would fit into a cardboard container. “Salt and vinegar?” he added, already reaching for them as she nodded.</p>
<p>“Perhaps you ought to start selling them as part of the fish supper deal,” Ellie suggested, continuing the joke, but privately thinking that would actually be quite a good idea.</p>
<p>“Maybe we will,” Dave answered cheerfully, “and then you’ll have no excuse!”</p>
<p>Ellie laughed as he passed her the chips, and handed him a couple of quid. She liked Dave a lot. He was one of those pillars of the community who knew everyone, with a kind face and an infectious grin. Her own smile faltered as it occurred to her that a lot of local business owners were held in the same regard by many in the town – and yet, several of them were currently on their list of suspects. She bade Dave a hasty goodnight, and set off home, balancing the carrier bag from the shop in the crook of her elbow so she could hold the chips with one hand and eat them with the other. </p>
<p>It wasn’t a long walk from the high street back to the cul-de-sac where the Latimers lived, and then across the field to home. Hampered slightly by her decision to combine carrying shopping with eating chips, Ellie realised as she drew level with Beth’s house that she must be later than she’d said by now – all the lights were out, and the street was very quiet. Picking up the pace, she closed the box with the remaining few chips in and took out her phone to use the torch in the field, not wanting to tread in any stinky surprises left by the local dogs. </p>
<p>The field was enclosed on two sides by housing estates, with one edge that joined the coastal path and another lined with trees, which in turn backed onto another, larger field belonging to a nearby farm. Walking a straight line between Beth’s house and hers, Ellie was so focussed on where she was putting her feet on the dark terrain that at first she hardly noticed the strange noise coming from across the field. Eventually, however, her attention was caught by a plaintive, high-pitched sound. She paused, frowning slightly, listening. Perhaps a cat or a fox, fighting? After a few moments, hearing nothing more, she shook her head and continued walking.</p>
<p>The noise came again. It sounded almost like a child, crying. Peering across the dark field, fruitlessly shining the limited light from her phone flash, Ellie tried to discern whether it was coming from the edge of one of the housing estates or the trees. It seemed to be the trees, so, deciding that it probably was an animal, she directed the torchlight back ahead of her and took another step forward. Then, she heard the noise again, and this time it was accompanied by a young, human voice, faint from the distance but clear in the enunciation:<br/>“Mummy!” </p>
<p>Ellie whirled around. Her curiosity turned to concern; the fear in the voice was setting off alarm bells. She hoped this was nothing more sinister than a child who had snuck out of their back garden, perhaps playing explorer in the field, then realised that they had ventured a little bit too far and become afraid. She had lived on the back of this field for years, and it was a very enticing place for young adventurers; there were a lot of families living in the area, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time one of the children had got carried away with a game. Granted, that normally happened during the day, but either way, she wasn’t about to hang around. As a police officer and, especially, as a mother, she could not ignore such a helpless sound of distress. </p>
<p>She started walking towards the trees, trying not to make any noise, listening. She unlocked her phone with her free hand and found the number of the station, just in case. There it was again –</p>
<p>“Mummy, where are you?” </p>
<p>Ellie quickened her pace, squinting towards the trees, looking for movement. There was none, but she thought she could still hear the crying noise which had first caught her attention. As she drew level with the first trees, she called out: </p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>No answer. Ellie looked left and right, wondering if the child was hiding.</p>
<p>“It’s ok, you don’t need to be afraid,” she added encouragingly, addressing a fallen branch a few metres away, unsure which direction she ought to be facing. Again, there was no reply. She looked around again, furrowing her brow. There was now almost complete silence, except for the light rustling of the trees in the wind. Still hovering her thumb over the number of her workplace, she took a couple of steps further into the trees, feeling confused and slightly apprehensive. Was the lack of sleep getting to her? Had she just imagined the voice, like some kind of bizarre hallucination? </p>
<p>Raising her phone into the air, she shone the light around. Then, she spotted something – a dark lump at the base of a tree. Hurrying towards it, she stopped dead when she realised what it was – not a child, curled up on the ground, but a fairly large, Bluetooth speaker. Next to it, glowing rather menacingly in the darkness, was a mobile phone. For a moment, Ellie just stood there staring at it. Then, a sudden sense of deep foreboding descended on her – a horrible feeling of impending doom coupled with disbelief. Had she just been lured into the woods by a disembodied voice, played over a speaker? What kind of sick person would do that? Was it a prank; a social experiment? This was real life in an innocuous English seaside town, not some cheesy horror film. Tearing her eyes away from the phone on the floor and back to her own, she pressed the number that was ready on the display - but at the same time, there was a rustle behind her and, before she could do anything other than register what was about to happen, she felt a sudden searing, splitting pain in the back of her head; felt her phone leave her hand as it, and she, fell to the ground; and then everything went black.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry for the late update! I've already written half of chapter 3 so hopefully that will be faster :) </p>
<p>Thank you so so much for the kudos and comments, I'm so glad people are enjoying it. This chapter is kind of horrible but hopefully the only way is up...! </p>
<p>TW for more violence/blood, sexual assault and mentions of death in this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt like the inside of Ellie’s head was fizzing, like a bottle of carbonated drink that had been shaken up. She wanted to move it, but it hurt too, a blinding pain that was making her feel sick to her stomach. If she could only see, she was sure the world would be spinning. There was something else wrong with her head, too… her jaw hurt, her mouth was full of something. Panicking, she sucked in air through her nose, trying not to gasp, not to choke on the wad of material blocking her mouth. It tasted horrible, and she had to concentrate hard to avoid gagging, trying to focus on breathing. The fresh air, cold and harsh against the inside of her nose, and the chilly dampness of the ground beneath her told her that she was outside.</p>
<p>There was a noise above her and her eyes flew open. She still couldn’t see anything. For a moment, she thought she’d gone blind, but then she realised her eyelids were brushing against material. She’d been blindfolded. Automatically, she tried to move her hands to remove it, and learned that they were tied behind her back underneath her, going steadily numb from the pressure of her bodyweight on top of them and the tightness of the ligatures. As she lay there, trying to master breathing through her nose and assessing the extent of her sensation, she remembered the case. Fear flooded through her like ice, so cold it seared, coursing through her veins, paralysing her. She listened, trying to hear over the frantic thumping of her heart and the ringing in her ears caused by the head injury. There was that noise again – a sort of familiar clicking sound. Then she realised, horrified, what it was: the shutter sound of a phone camera. Tears sprang to her eyes behind the blindfold as she understood what was happening. Someone was taking photos of her as she lay there, injured, bound, and completely helpless. </p>
<p>Not daring to move, dimly thinking that nothing good could come from her assailant knowing she was conscious, she tried to breathe calmly through her nose and assess her situation beyond the restraints. There was a draught around her chest, and, realising that her shirt had been ripped open, she was almost, sickeningly, glad of the blindfold as it absorbed her tears so that she wouldn’t give herself away. She could still feel her bra fastening pressing into her back against the hard earth, though, and relative warmth from the waist down told her that she was still wearing trousers and shoes. Tentatively, she wiggled her toes, as if to check they still worked. They did. She didn’t dare move her feet, but she could feel that they, unlike her wrists, were not tied. Ellie knew her legs were strong, from walking up cliffs; hurrying up and down stairs at the station; roaming around crime scenes with Hardy; carrying the weight of Fred and various toddler paraphernalia across sand. They’d been strong enough to break Joe’s ribs, which had surprised her. Perhaps they could save her now.</p>
<p>Her heart rate quickened. The absence of any ties around her legs and the false sense of security her attacker had in believing her unconscious had given her a small glimmer of hope; the freezing sensation that her fear had imposed upon her body was thawing, leaving a shivering fluidity in its wake. She tried to tense her muscles, not to tremble too obviously, but they were warming up, imbibed with adrenaline, preparing for fight or flight. Or both. She tried to work out a little more about where she was. She couldn’t remember exactly where she’d been when she was knocked out – the last thing she remembered was pausing outside the Latimers’ house. She must have been crossing the field. It was the only logical opportunity someone could have had.</p>
<p>She breathed in carefully through her nose, trying to see if she could discern something from the scent. It didn’t help. She could smell soil and grass, but not much else. She listened instead, and noticed that she could hear the whisper of leaves in the sea breeze, the occasional noise of twigs and foliage as the nocturnal inhabitants of the little wooded patch went about their business. The camera shutter was still sounding from her left, interspersed with an ominous shuffling which she could feel from the ground as her assailant changed position; the trees, meanwhile, seemed to be on her right. If she was correct, and she was in the field on the other side of the wooded patch that led onto the grassier field between the housing estates, then she didn’t actually have a long way to go. If she could get one good kick in the right place, floor him for just long enough to get through the trees, he might scarper rather than try to tackle her again in the field, where they would be overlooked by windows and perhaps even the odd home CCTV.  </p>
<p>Ellie knew that she needed to wait for the right moment. One botched attempt would cost her the opportunity to get out of this situation before it went any further, and would possibly provoke more serious injury than if she’d simply remained unconscious throughout. Despite her police training, without being able to see or use her hands, she knew she had a slim chance of succeeding, but it was a risk she felt she had to take. She could not bear the thought of what would come next if she remained still and silent.</p>
<p>Her attacker had stopped taking photos. She practically held her breath as she heard him kneel down next to her, breathing quickly, nauseatingly excited. She felt the air move as he reached out, and the next thing, there was a hand on the top of her head. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to move; there was no way she could kick him when he was crouching behind her head like that. As he ran his hand roughly down the back of her head, more tears leaked into the blindfold and she winced, actually biting the gag, from the combination of disgust and pain as his fingers rummaged carelessly across her head wound. There was a yanking sensation, and she realised he’d been pulling her hair out of its bobble. She continued to lie there, feeling increasingly sick, as he arranged her hair around her head and shoulders. In the absence of being able to fight back, Ellie focussed on listening and smelling, trying to pick up something which would help them to identify him. The sounds were unhelpful – knees shifting on grass; that horrible, keen breathing; the continued rustling of the trees to her right. Sniffing the air as he moved, though, she caught a definite scent which she recognised – like sweat which has dried quickly in the air; the smell people have after they’ve been playing sport. Her triumph at acquiring this detail quickly dissipated, replaced by horror, as he ran his hand from her shoulder all the way down to the waistband of her trousers, pausing and groping along the way. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to wait just a bit longer until he was in a better position; tried to focus on the feel of the ground and the air, the sound of the trees, and to think of them as allies which would help her escape.</p>
<p>The change in temperature around her lower abdomen told her he had undone the button and zip of her trousers, and parted the material. She tried to resist the waves of panic and nausea, her heart hammering, a fresh surge of adrenaline seeping through her limbs. Any moment now, surely, he would get into position, and she would seize her chance… </p>
<p>It didn’t happen. </p>
<p>Instead, he stood up again, the sound of his breathing retreated, she heard him take a couple of steps back. Then, the shutter sound started again. He had been posing her. It was anger now which overtook her, frustration that she’d been ready to strike and the moment had passed, rage that he could do this and get away with it, that he was clearly getting the power kick he wanted from this. How must it feel to a serial rapist, to capture the detective working on his case and take pictures of her in such a vulnerable, demeaning position? She hated herself for giving him the opportunity, and then immediately hated herself for hating herself. </p>
<p>This time, the camera only clicked a handful of times, before he returned to her. His breathing was even heavier, and she knew that he wasn’t going to mess around any longer. She cultivated the anger and the adrenaline and used them to engage her core and leg muscle, like a cat waiting for the exact moment to pounce. She sensed the movement of him straightening up, looming over her; as she had expected, he was stepping in between her legs, pushing them apart with his feet. Squatting down, he bent forward, and when she sensed his hands on either side of her shoulders she took her chance: bending her knees, she yanked her legs first inwards towards her torso, then up and out, and she felt that she had made contact with his abdomen at the same time as she heard him gasp.</p>
<p>She hadn’t quite managed to kick him in the balls, but her action took him by surprise and threw him off balance. Blindly, not evening thinking anymore, just reacting instinctively, she sat up, squashing her fingers slightly in the process, and scrambled to her feet. She could feel him on the ground near her left foot and began to kick hard, unable to aim for anything in particular, but needing to incapacitate him enough to actually get somewhere, which would be difficult without being able to see or feel her way. A hand closed around her left ankle; with her right foot, she stamped down on something soft with her heel and heard him yell in pain, so she did it again, and again, until the hand on her ankle loosened and, finally, she turned towards the sound of the trees and stumbled forwards. For a moment, she felt elated, the adrenaline overpowering the pain in her head and her wrists, the smooth soil of the field aiding her, not tripping her as she moved as quickly and carefully as she could towards that welcome rustling. </p>
<p>Ellie had forgotten about the fence, until she stumbled straight into it. Her heart sank as she leaned against the wood, wondering whether she could get one leg over and then tip over the other side. She paused, listening; unable to hear any footsteps, she decided to try it. Leaning her hands against the nearest fencepost, she tried to grip it a bit with her fingers. She could feel that the fence was only as high as her hip, and started to lift her right leg, groping with her foot to get it on top of the highest part. It worked. Shuffling her leg across, she leaned to the right as much as she could, and then kicked up with her left leg, allowing herself to topple over the fence face first.</p>
<p>She landed on her front, and her nose was immediately full of the smell of soil and fallen leaves. Ordinarily, it would have hurt – she could feel twigs scratching her face and the impact of a small pebble on her forehead, but the leafy ground was relatively soft and hadn’t caused any serious damage. Swaying back up to her feet, trying to keep her balance on the uneven ground, Ellie straightened up and leaned back slightly to check where the fence was. Once she was sure it was completely behind her, she could try to walk in a straight line, and that should take her through the trees and out the other side. She set off, slowly, carefully, kicking and shuffling rather than stepping, praying that he wouldn’t catch up with her.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, getting over the fence had taken too long. Her assailant had recovered, had easily scaled the fence with his free hands, and the noise of his feet hitting the floor was the most ominous, soul-destroying sound Ellie had ever heard. She sobbed into the gag as she valiantly continued to shuffle forward, but it was no use – he was on her in an instant, shoving her hard in the back so that she fell forward once again. This time, she wasn’t so lucky with her landing – her face made contact with a rock and she felt her nose break, warm blood gushing from her nostrils into the leaves, spreading around her lips and soaking into the material gagging her. He grabbed her and dragged her backwards towards him, but whatever sensation she had still felt was rapidly disappearing, removed by the overwhelming pain as she slipped back towards unconsciousness. She tried to breathe through her nose, but there was too much blood and she started to choke as it entered her throat and then her lungs. Her heart broke as she realised that this was it: she would never see her sons again; she was dying, starved of oxygen, unable to inhale anything other than her own blood. She was no longer even aware of the man behind her, scrabbling at her clothes like a dog digging for a bone. As the tears flowed from her eyes and the blood flowed from her nose, and her lungs filled up with fluid, she thought only of Tom and Fred, and their faces were the last thing she saw in her mind’s eye before the darkness overwhelmed her, and she felt no more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK, I know this is a bit far-fetched and Leo could probably just as easily have grabbed her from the dark field, but I just find him so creepy and I could imagine him enjoying playing games like this, especially with a detective on the case.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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